Back to the playoff final match.
The net rippled. The stadium erupted.
Ipswich fans burst into wild celebration—arms raised, scarves flailing, voices merging into a deafening roar that swept across Wembley like a tidal wave.
On the Manchester City bench—silence.
Robertson sat frozen, jaw clenched, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of his seat.
"F**k!"
Richard cursed under his breath the moment City conceded. Are you kidding me John?!
The first goal down, and not even ten minutes in. This wasn't how it was supposed to start.
In the next few minutes after the match resumed, Manchester City focused on offense while Ipswich concentrated on defense, making the tactical situation crystal clear.
For a split second, Wembley became a stadium split in two—two contrasting emotions, two contrasting strategies.
